A Hero
by InspiredByOrdinary
Summary: Mimir is the youngest of the old gods, in search of a hero. Jon is in fact that hero. She has found someone worth protecting in the mortal relm, and he, perhaps, has found someone worth fighting for. JonxOC
1. Chapter 1

Westeros, over the millenia it had stood, had never seen a woman quite like the one standing at the gates to winterfell, peering in at the courtyard of the castle with light curiosity in her eyes. Her hair was short and brown, and she was short and stout, sturdy at the waist with a fine figure, but the favorite feature was her face. High cheekbones and rounded rosy cheeks framed pert pink lips that widened into a almost frightening smile. Her eyes, round and wide were framed by long tangled black lashes, exposing the iris of cold gunmetal blue. The eyes were not spectacular in their beauty, though they were beautiful, but rather in the crinkle of skin that caused them to look kindly upon all that she met.

Her hands, clean for once but stubbly fingered and calloused, scarred slightly as a good lady's never should be, touched her cloak, letting them rest on the grey fabric as she let herself transform.

Her short shiny hair became limp, and her round cheeks sunk in, the fine clothes she wore tattered to rags that would have left her half frozen had she not have been who she was. Her shoes all together disappeared, and she seemed quite the beggar, a rather attractive one at that. The only feature that marked her from before was the crinkle of her eyes, her kind look, as she stumbled into the courtyard.

"Hey! Who's that? She shouldn't be in the courtyard whoever she is," Theon Greyjoy spat, his blunted practice sword lowered to the ground from where he stood in the hastily made fighting ring. His stillness had won him a blow however, as the flat of Robb Stark's sword caught him on the side "Hey!"

"Don't let down your guard for a beggar girl!" Rob cautioned, looking over at the cause of the commotion now that it seemed the fight was stopped for the time being. "Girl!"

The woman, or perhaps Rob's estimation of girl had been more correct, started forwards. Her feet tripped over one another as she trotted along, causing her to slip and fall onto the cold stone. A sharp laugh from Theon echoed around the courtyard, which was empty of anyone but the three practicing boys, and the beggar girl.

"Yes?" She said, her voice croaking and rough as she looked upon the eyes of Rob Stark, the eldest son of Ned Stark, from her place on her stomach on the ground.

"Yes my Lord!" Theon encouraged with a smirk.

Rob huffed at his friend, jumping over the fence and helping the girl to her feet. He was too well brought up to leave a lady on the floor, even if she was no lady.

"Yes my Lord," The girl echoed faintly, looking at Rob again. He recoiled slightly, she looked ugly in the state she was in, he did not see the kindness in her eyes.

"I'm afraid i'll have to ask you to leave," Rob said, looking over at Jon who silently walked forwards. "Jon here will escort you out,"

"Please my Lord, i'm starving, just a bite of bread! Or perhaps let me sit in the warm for a few minutes before I am on my way!" The girl croaked, her thin dirty face contorting grotesquely with panic. She was a good actor.

Robb Stark thought it over. Perhaps on a nicer day he would have given her the bread, as his father would have had him do, he would have sat with the ugly girl inside till she was well enough to continue on. But he had just lost a fight to Theon but a few minutes ago, and he was impatient to get back to it.

"Jon, if you would," Rob directed at his brother, getting back into the ring.

Jon looked at the girl, and in her desperate face, and saw the glint of kindness in the crease of her eyes. His heart tugged, and he walked over, taking her by the arm gently and pulling her away.

"Please my Lord, just a bite," She said again, this time softly, mournfully, as if she expected to be kicked out again so surely she would not embarrass herself further with another wild declaration.

"Quiet yourself," Jon said lowly, his hand slipping down to her own and holding it, despite its rough dirty texture. He was sure they were out of sight, and he ran his thumb over her knuckles, leading her up the steps of the lonely cold tower were he slept. "You will have your bread,"

He opened the door to his measly chamber, nothing of note laid in those four walls but the man himself. And his snow white wolf pup. He had been moved to the lonely tower not long after his twelfth nameday, not that it had been celebrated; lady Caitlin's way of getting him as far from her as possible.

The girl looked up at him with bayul eyes, watery and pale like the rest of her. Another man might have left her outside for fear of her dirty skirts ruining the room, but in Jon's eyes there was not too much to ruin. He took a few slices of bread from the plate he had left in his chamber, the lunch he had made for his return after practice, and gave it to her.

"Here," He said kindly, yet stiffly, "It's not much but you can sit here and eat it before you leave, I'm sorry for Rob, normally he would have been much more courteous,"

The girl looked at him for a moment more, before smiling a smile so wide it terrified him. She touched her hand to her shoulder, and transformed back into the lively beauty she had been at the gate. Her rosy cheeks and bountiful figure wrapped in swathes of white organza, making her look erethial as she sat on Jon's bed, with him looking upon her in absolute bewilderment from his chair across from her.

"You Jon, are quite the man," She said, her kind laughing eyes sparking as she took a bite from the plate in front of her. "Not many men of station even such as yours actually feed me, let alone in their own chambers. And I don't think any have disobeyed an order, and apologised on behalf of someone else,"

"You just changed,..." Jon trailed off, and the girl smiled.

"Indeed I did Jon! I am Mimir, I suppose you would simply think of me as one of the old gods however," She said, taking another nonchalant bite of Jon's lunch. "I am however, the youngest, born very few years ago. And I have come looking for a hero to watch over,"

"A hero?" Jon asked, still very confused, but not particularly threatened by the woman he had accepted as a goddess. She was beautiful enough, and magical enough for sure.

"Indeed Jon, I think you are in fact that hero ."


	2. Chapter 2

The wildness of the woman was out of place in the cold stone room. She looked into the grey eyes of the bastard of Winterfell in determination, looking to the grate in the corner of the room, which lacked fire.

"Do you mind?" She asked with a smile, Jon started to stand to light the fire but it lit itself with a wave of her hand. "You don't need to worry about that Jon"

Jon looked at her with something like fear in his eyes. He had heard tales of the gods, and what they did to men. There was nothing he could think of that he would like to be doing less than being looked at by this goddess.

"I am sorry my lady, uh, my goddess? I do not know how to address you or treat you, nobody ever thought I'd be meeting anyone of your level of esteem," Jon said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Don't worry Jon!" Mimir exclaimed, her hands flying up in her excitement, touching her silky hair, "you aren't expected to do much really, I've already picked you!"

"What exactly does this picking entail?" He asked with trepidation in his voice.

"Well, each of the gods and goddesses have a set of things to address in the mortal realm, my mothers was love and beauty, and my fathers was the sun and music," she explained, looking every part the child of summer. Jon was surprised in that moment that she was so far north.

"And each of the gods and goddesses take a human, one they expect to be great, and give them a gift, and their patronage. What this means is, when you need me, during the great trial in your life which I know will come, I will arrive and use all my magic to assist you. Be warned however, as once you call me I will stay till I see it through, and I shan't be able to leave your side until you are safe or dead," Mimir said, taking another bite of the food and winking at the man in front of her.

"If you don't mind me asking my lady, what are you the goddess of?" Jon asked, curiosity getting the better of him for once. He had been brought up in the religion of the old gods with his fathers command, but he had never been a particularly devout man. The honour of his family had always meant more then the words of invisible gods. Having one in front of him made a difference however.

"Me? Well, they have granted me the title of the goddess of summer and skill" she said with a proud flourish, drawing herself up to her fathers unimpressive height, before slumping down a little. "I know it does not seem too useful, you would probably be better off with a warrior god, but I promise to always keep the summers long for you, and lend you my skill in diplomacy and craftsmanship"

"Any help from the gods is more then enough," Jon said. Looking at the woman in front of him once more, his lingering stare on her face as she put the plate back on the small table and picked up his pup, that surprisingly snapped its teeth at her. "Ghost no!"

"Oh it's alright! A wild creature like him likes to test the boundaries," she said wisely, a deep an inhuman growl rumbling from her chest, sending ghost into a submissive stance before curling up in her lap. "Luckily for me, I'm quite wild too,"

They sat there then, watching each other, for what felt like one long moment but was really much longer then that. Mimir slowly smoothed the white fur of Jon's wolf, and he watched on, the warmth of the fire relaxing him in a way it never had before.

"It is time I leave you, I must continue training with my family, I am but the same age as you and terribly inexperienced for a goddess. To be of any use I must continue to learn... as as we all must. But I have to ask of you Jon, do you accept to be my champion?" Mimir asked, standing and placing Ghost on the bed behind her.

"I do my lady" Jon said after a long pause, his mind made up. He stood and grasped her forearm as she did the same.

"Then here," she said, handing him the necklace from around her neck, a pale stone covered in thin trailing lines of silver, "wear it and never take it off. It will allow you to call me whenever you need to. You must break the stone, it will call me."

"But, it's too beautiful to break," Jon said, immediately realising his mistake in contradicting the word of a goddess and looking at Mimir in panic.

"It is isn't it, though I suppose I can fix it for you afterwards if you become too fond of it dear one," Mimir said with a warm smile, Jon's face heating up with embarrassment ment. "I must also take something of yours, anything will do,"

"Something of mine? You are welcome to anything but all I have are my clothes my Lady." Jon said, his embarrassment not fading.

"I need something to connect us, a physical token of the bond or else I may not hear the call..." she trailed off, before brightening and then blushing. "Perhaps, a lock of your hair could work,"

"Anything you need," Jon supplied gladly, happy to have finally been able to please the goddess.

He swiftly clasped the newly gotten necklace around his neck, tucking it into his tunic to hide its beautiful glint, then drew a rusty knife from his belt and sliced a lock of thick black hair from his head. He handed it to Mimir, and when their hands touched he felt a warmth in his stomach that felt as unfamiliar as it did comforting.

"Thank you Jon, remember, call me when you have need. I will be watching over you." She took a step towards him, her hand touching his cheek as she pressed her lips to his other cheek, using her hand to tilt his head downwards so she could reach.

She leaned back, and disappeared, leaving Jon stood in the middle of his room, slowly rubbing circles into the pendant around his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Years passed for the pair of them, cunning time stealing years from their very person as they slept. Jon went to the wall, as he had always intended, and did not speak of the goddess he had met, until one cold night on the wall where he and Samwell Tarly had little else but their memories to keep them warm.

Sam, the kind lad he was, was envisioning the warmth of a good dinner and family, sitting by the fire as he often did with his mother and sister when his brother and father went hunting and left him behind. The twinkle in his eye spoke of an ache of loneliness that many feel, but few rid themselves of. Samwell wished for a family, one that would love him dearly, and for him to love dearly in return. A tall hope for a place such as the wall, despite the talk of brothers. Jon Snow, seeing this, couldn't help but let his mind take him back to the true warmth of his room that night, as the flames burned well into the next day after she left, comforting him as he hid from the king and queens scorn.

He awkwardly turned in his seat, looking at the expectant Samwell and grimacing the same grimace he had been doing for weeks as Sam tried to pull information from the solitary northerner. Thrice daily Sam had asked him a personal question, but the recurring one about the 'pretty jewel' around his neck was the most irritating.

Jon had live for Samwell, more then any of his brothers, but he picked the most awkward moments, asking him again about his necklace in the training yard, where the others had picked up on it, asking Lord Snow if he would like his Jewry polished while they shined his sword. Jon had almost cast the stone away then, in a fit of anger and bitterness, but stopped at the last second, and hid it in his tunic with a long suffering sigh.

"Jon, go on, tell me about the necklace?" Sam asked again, his watery eyes peering through the darkness to lock onto his friend. Jon stared out into the wild north, and sighed once more.

"Fine, I suppose, but you'll laugh at me for it." Jon said, recounting his tale with as little embellishment or fanciful imagery as he could manage, but they where still boys, and as it was, it was already a fantastic tale.

"So you are telling me, you have a goddess waiting for your call?" Sam asked, in his incredulous and halting tone, almost accusatory.

"Yes I suppose," Jon said, his hand fiddling with the stone.

"And you haven't thought of calling her?" Sam shook his head and stared into the distance. "You have more willpower then me, what about asking her to help In your brothers war?"

"Yes that's all well and good Sam, hadn't thought of that!" Jon spat, the tone of his voice taking on a harsh inflection, his head whipping round to stare at his friend with piercing brown eyes. "She cannot leave my side, I would have to dessert the nights watch,"

"Oh, well that is a shame," Sam said, as Jon's posture returned to a slump.

That was the last time they talked about Mimir. But the story was repeated by Sam to their friends, the strength of the tale waning as it was passed around, but Edd had heard the tale, and that was the fact that would perhaps save Jon Snow's life.

When Jon was in the den of windings he thought of smashing the stone to bits, seeing if the help of the gods was really worth anything at all in this bleak wasteland, but he remembered who he would be calling. Mimir may have been a goddess, but by the look of her she was no fighter, and even if she was, killing the entire wildling population was a bit of a stretch even for a god.

When he climbed the wall he was but a few seconds away from bashing the stone into the ice and calling for help. But he remembered the way he had gotten out of trouble last time, and that the second on he was out of danger she would disappear again, but this time for good, and simply continued climbing.

He did try and crush the stone on the cold night of his death, but there was little he could do as he lay bleeding out in the snow, staring at the sky. The feeling of Ollie's knife the hardest to bear. Perhaps she would take pity on him, he wondered, thinking about the lock of hair he had given her once, and her promise to watch over him. Maybe she'd let him be in the land of eternal summer with his family.

But it was not meant to be, for if it was we would be missing a story.

"OH FOR THE SAKE OF MOTHER!" Mimir yelled as she looked down upon the bloody body of Jon Snow, twisting the silver braided bracelet that she had made to enclose Jon's hair around her wrist as she paced.

Her dress trailed behind her in the grass, flowers springing up from where her angry footfalls fell, and her heavy brown hair finally lay flat against her tan skin, her mother had gotten her to cast a spell every morning to stop it getting tangled once her magic was strong enough.

She ran to the palace grounds, falling at the feet of her grandfathers chair and steeling him with a pleading gaze that made him almost shed a tear for her plight, but he shook his head.

"Child, I know he was your first protection, and that you liked him very much, but unless the stone is broken you cannot travel to the realm of mortals, your magic simply isn't that strong." Grandfather spoke, his wise words reaching even the ears of the desperate Mimir, whose brain was speeding to an answer.

"Can't you ask uncle to heal him? He has had the man with the flaming sword healed at least seven times!" She pleaded, swiping the flowers that grew wildly in a crown around her head to the ground as they got in the way of her eyes.

"You took him on, he is yours to protect. Your uncle can not interfere." Grandfather said stonily, his tone lightly reprimanding.

"I could heal him if I was on the same plain!" Mimir said, a tear falling from her kind eyes, cursing her weakness. She had been coming along very well in her magic, a product of her title as a goddess of skill, but she was still a child compared to her uncle, and could not influence between realms.

"I know you could dear, but there is nothing to do for him now except ask that he be admitted to the land of eternal summer and guide him to his family when he arrives,"

"Not yet," Mimir said, determination filling her every muscle.

"My dear, his soul must be taken before it wastes away-"

"You said no other god could interfere with my charge, and none shall, until I command it!" She cried, her gaze resolute as she walked from the castle, with the eyes of her grandfather still upon her.

Mimir paced her way to the river, where she found her best friend and closest confidante Willow, a tree nymph. Willow was sat, combing her long green hair and trilling a song, when she saw the approach of her friend.

"Oh no, the last time I saw you this angry was when Hermes burned your knitting, and you practically killed the poor lad," Willow said, her eyes flashing with worry for her friend, who she wrapped into her body as she started to cry.

"Jon Snow is dead, and I can do nothing unless someone breaks his stone," she said, casting her hand over the still waters of the pond, turning it into the visage of Jon, who had been moved to a room in the castle, lying naked and dead on a table.

On the plain of the living, Edd, his wolf, Ser Davos and the red woman stood silently, staring at the man on the table in grief, and pain. The red woman had tried to revive him, but nothing had worked. Her god would not touch this man. Tormund had left before the magic even began, returning to his people. Edd had sent a friend after him once they where cornered in the room, hoping against hope he would get there in time to at least spare their lives.

"I am sorry, the Lord of light would not answer my call" the Red Woman said, her eyes downcast.

"Then what bloody good are ya?!" Edd exclaimed, pacing to the door and back again.

"I am no goddess, I am but a servant of the light." The red woman admitted, her head bowed for once.

Ed's head snapped up, his eyes flittering to the necklace they had left around Jon's neck, out of respect for the one thing he had refused to ever remove, even when the Lord commander himself had called him a bloody girl for wearing it.

"No," he sighed, to the absolute frustration of the goddesses watching him. Mimir frowned, and took all the energy she could muster, and calling upon her birthright as the daughter of the sun itself and made the flame of the candle spark violently before going out.

Mimir turned to the side and vomited, Willow supporting her, and healing her as she brushed her head back. She dipped her hand into the pond, and used the water to clean her friends face so she looked good as new, and gave her elixir to drink, clearing the taste from her mouth.

"You shouldn't have done that, it could have hurt you seriously." Willow reprimanded. Mimir nodded, but stared even more intently into the pond as Ed approached Jon.

He reached out, grabbing the stone, and with a sigh of resignation he used his last hope, plunging his dagger Into the stone, splitting it into two pieces.

In that very moment Mimir appeared in front of him, looking every part the goddess, and rushed forwards to Jon Snow who did indeed take his first breath in hours as she lay her hand upon his cheek.


End file.
